


of confessions and cocktails

by firewoodfigs, hirayaart



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, awkward roy, eighth shot's a charm, fluff??, havoc wreaking havoc, riza and rebecca are 11/10, team mustang's night out at a fancy bar, with accompanying artwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24214624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodfigs/pseuds/firewoodfigs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirayaart/pseuds/hirayaart
Summary: It’s the end of Team Mustang’s first full week in Central Command. Colonel Mustang simply doesn’t have the time for a break, and 2nd Lieutenant Havoc makes a very candid, very dangerous wager with 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye...
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 31
Kudos: 113





	of confessions and cocktails

“What’s this, Team Mustang is _finally_ complete after a whole week in Central?” Officer-in-Charge and 2nd Lieutenant Jean Havoc grinned widely upon bursting into the exclusive workspace. Four pairs of eyes, belonging to his immediate peers regarded him curiously, while a fifth, belonging to his superior, remained seemingly disinterested and focused on reviewing documents that were stacked _intentionally_ high on one corner of his private desk.

Warrant Officer Vato Falman offered a small smile. “Seems right,” he said. “All six of us are in one place for a change.”

“Then I propose we all go out tonight and mark our first happy hour together as Central’s newest, proudest dogs!”

1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye rose from her seat and couriered another stack of papers to the colonel, who to her frustration remained relatively unfazed and just gave her a thumbs-up. “You’re unusually motivated,” she muttered.

Colonel Roy Mustang looked up and met her stern gaze innocently. “I’ve a date tonight, Lieutenant. I intend to get through all of this by 1600.”

“Ambitious, too,” Hawkeye said dryly and returned to her desk, diverting her attention to Jean. “So what’s this about a happy hour tonight?”

Havoc shot a glare towards Mustang, “Well we’re _supposed_ to be a complete team with the boss, so--”

“Don’t bother,” Mustang said, casting a momentary glance at his subordinates. “Go on without me and maybe I’ll catch up.”

The youngest on Team Mustang peeked over the radio he was repairing. “Will you be at the Madame’s, Colonel?”

Mustang smiled, realizing that Master Sergeant Kain Fuery was being present to alternative means of communication in the unlikely event that they needed him around. “Correct. You’ll be able to reach me through that line.”

2nd Lieutenant Heymans Breda raised a hand, “Yeah, count me in, boys.”

“Count me out,” Hawkeye said flatly. 

Havoc did not spare a second, “Thought you would, Lieutenant, but I happen to know that some of our East forces are arriving tonight to precede their site visit next week, including 2nd Lt. Rebecca Catalina!”

Hawkeye maintained her stoic expression, but her heart jumped slightly at the opportunity to see her best friend again - and so soon after her transfer, too. “Well,” she began hesitantly, “Then go off on a date. I’ll stay behind at the shooting range.”

No one on the team, not even typically-observant Falman noticed that Mustang’s pen ceased its monotonous scratching on paper because he was now listening intently, analysing his Lieutenant’s responses contemplatively. 

Havoc rolled his eyes. “What’s up with the both of you, seriously?” he said, alternating his gaze between his two superiors. “I know the rules, Lieutenant, and Rebecca would very much prefer to see you over my dumb ass, so do us both a favor, spare _her_ the headache of taking sides, and join us for a drink tonight!”

Hawkeye was about to retort when Mustang interjected, “Don’t make me give you the order, Lieutenant Hawkeye. I’ll have Fuery confirm, too.”

 _That didn’t sit well,_ Havoc thought to himself, amused at the look on Hawkeye’s face as she shot a baleful glare at her superior officer.

“Done deal!”

“One condition!” Hawkeye snapped, “I choose the bar, lest you have us all sauntering around like fools around our new Central HQ peers on our first weekend here.”

“Fair, fair,” Havoc waved a hand. “I believe W. O. Falman would have some top-of-mind recommendations already!”

Falman nearly jumped in his seat, ever eager to use his encyclopedia of a brain. “How about The Curator? Artisanal drinks, Amestrian-Xingese fusion cuisine, far away from Central Bar where military personnel frequent, and ambience pleasant with live jazz. I hear there’s dancing later in the night, too.”

Havoc raised an eyebrow expectantly back at Hawkeye, followed by Fuery and Breda’s nodding. 

Hawkeye resisted the urge to massage her temples. She had no real reason to counter the offer further, and so resigned mentally to leaving no later than 1700 to get dressed, already inclined to enlist Rebecca for her help and fashion advice. 

~x~

The night had started out like any other - ordinary, mindless, and candid at the prestigious Curator. But of course, with idiots like Jean Havoc in the mix, “ordinary” could easily be put into question. 

He was bad enough when sober, but with alcohol the impish, playful parts of him seemed to multiply tenfold. 

“Oi, Hawkeye,” he called out - not bad enough to invoke her first name, at least. “You up for a challenge?” But bad enough to challenge an unflappable lieutenant. 

“I’m not interested in any stupid challenges that you might be thinking of, Havoc,” she drawled, and sipped her cosmopolitan slowly, delicately. It was a pleasant drink—the mild blend of sweet and sour was something she appreciated, and the amount of vodka in the cocktail was enough to give her a pleasant buzz two glasses later; a subtle tipsiness for her to loosen up a little, but not enough for her to get inebriated and say embarrassing things that she would undeniably regret the next day. 

“Aw, c’mon, you’ve been keeping this up since this afternoon!. Not even just for a night?” He paused, as if turning his attention to a certain colonel’s absence. “The colonel ain’t around, y’know, since he’s busy on a _date_ with some busty brunette tonight. Won’t be here to bear witness to any embarrassing antics… _if_ you indeed get drunk.” 

Hawkeye shook her head, jaw locked resolutely as she ordered another drink, this time requesting for a Penicillin. The cocktail was a painkiller only by name, but there was nothing like another strong vodka mix to suppress her headache courtesy of two gentlemen that had been trying her patience all day. 

Next to her, Rebecca eyed her curiously as she gently massaged her temple.

Riza Hawkeye was _not_ pleased that the insufferable colonel had gone out on a date despite her carefully crafted obstacles in the form of paperwork and order forms, although she was unsure whether she was more displeased with _herself_ for being so...petty. Mustang often went on dates, and she never bothered to ask how they went, nor would he share any details of the sort. At best, he would saunter into the office the very next morning looking proud as a peacock.

Of course, her expression remained as indifferent as ever, but Havoc didn’t miss the way she signed off on her own work with extra vigour before promptly dialing for Rebecca to meet up at her apartment by 1715. And presently, with the way his ranking counterpart’s upper lip was twitching ever so imperceptibly… 

It was evident that her irritation had not subsided in the least, despite her alcohol consumption. 

Havoc grinned triumphantly as the realisation dawned upon him that he had successfully struck a nerve. He nudged Breda and Rebecca subtly, as if to ask for support. “Back me up on this,” he whispers conspiratorially under his breath, now an enticing mix of tobacco and gin. 

Rebecca only elbowed Riza, who was still looking as spruce as when she had stepped in - not a single hair out of place, nor a single crease on her figure-hugging black dress. Her back arched slightly like an easel displaying a work of outstanding artistry. “Everything will be just _fine,_ Riza,” she offered. You can afford to loosen up a little.” 

Across the table, Breda casually picked up a chip and popped it into his mouth. “Surely you’ll knock Havoc out before you even get drunk, Lieutenant. Besides, whatever happens here stays here.” He gestured toward Falman and Fuery for support. 

Falman offered a shrug, while Fuery merely flushed slightly and zoned in on sipping his martini—in part because they were terrified of crossing the lieutenant, but also because they had a feeling this was going to be a terrible idea. 

Riza raised a perfectly arched brow, watching the melting ice cubes swirl as she stirred her glass impatiently. “Fine. But if I win, you’re taking my overtime hours this month, Havoc.” Her lips curved upward in a sadistic smile. 

“Deal,” he agreed, much to her surprise and slight chagrin. That was… easier than expected. 

Not one to resile from her word, however, she shot him an imperious smirk— _victory will be mine._

~x~

Mere hours later, the team’s predictions had turned out to be frighteningly accurate.

As Riza had predicted, victory was indeed hers, but Falman and Fuery were affirmed when their indomitable lieutenant had ended up getting herself utterly _smashed._ On one hand, Havoc had been knocked out quickly - as was apparent from his muscular body sprawled all over the booth sofa seat. His mouth hung open and saliva dripped lazily. And on the other hand, Riza had downed a grand total of eight shots, driven solely by alcohol-fueled adrenaline. 

Then again, this was Riza Hawkeye, and so even with all the liquor in her system she managed to maintain her balance in spite of her pair of scarlet stilettos, which while deadly, accentuated her sinewy legs very well as she sauntered over to the dance floor with a coquettish smirk. Rebecca, certainly tipsy herself, resolved to do the same, but not before telling Falman and Fuery to _get that stupid horse down, tell him it’s an emergency and his precious lieutenant is gonna be snagged up by another guy if he doesn’t hurry up._

Falman did not waste a second and immediately requested to borrow the bar’s phone line. Fuery just watched, jaw to the floor and aghast beyond measure as their stern, uncompromising lieutenant swayed her hips sensually to the music.

The presence of two dateless and attractive women on the dancefloor had the effect of turning heads instantaneously—other girls in envy of their toned bodies that held a likeness to Etruscan sculpture after years of military training, and men in lascivious, lustful admiration, evident from their suggestive smirks and whistles. 

“Alright, Riza,” Rebecca said, placing a leading arm below Hawkeye’s shoulder blades and leading her into a close-hold slow dance to the live jazz, “What’s going on?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Riza said, clearly loose-lipped as she tossed her head back and began to laugh. 

Rebecca arched a perfectly pencilled brow and watched as a sandy-blonde gentleman inclined his head to get a better view of her partner. “One minute you’re fighting off this team night out like the plague, and the next minute you’re downing a hundred shots after _one_ mention of your silly colonel.”

 _“Please,_ Rebecca,” she rolled her eyes and styled herself outside Rebecca’s protective lead and took her place, literally holding the brunette close to her chest with one strong arm, and another outstretched to perfect frame. “That bastard can do whatever he wants—I couldn’t give a flying shit if he ordered me to.”

Rebecca, in her own drunken state, let a giggle escape her lips as Riza twirled her and dipped her slightly. “Alright, Riza,” she said. “Go play ball, if you don’t give a flying shit, then. You’ve got a consistent fan club already.”

Riza smirked and spun around to come face-to-face with a man not much older than she was. He offered a confident smile and an open palm, “Would you mind terribly?”

She responded with a sweet, deceptively gentle smile. “Not unless you dance like a headless chicken, George.”

The man chuckled and brought her closer. “My name isn’t—”

“I didn’t ask,” she interrupted, pressing herself slightly against his body. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Feathers clearly ruffled at the challenge of a stunningly beautiful woman, Hawkeye’s new dance partner spared her a glint in his regard for her and took her around the dance floor.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and smirked as she made her way to the standing bar and ordered herself an Old Fashioned just as she took note of the number of other eager young gentlemen jumping in line for the next opportunity to dance with the irresistible, ravishing blonde. 

~x~

True to his namesake, Roy Mustang arrived at the Curator in record time after two sets and three dance partners, primarily driven by the lurking threat of someone else laying dirty hands and malicious intent on _his_ lieutenant. And when he saw someone doing exactly that—although he had to admit, in her intoxicated state she was quite a sight to behold—green overtook all sense of reason in him like a jealous lover and he strode over to the center of the floor immediately to pry her waist from the man’s greedy grasp. 

“Get off her,” he barked, every ounce of recognition for his military rank seeping into the words like a command. He was the least bit grateful at the way Hawkeye turned toward him and showed the slightest indication they were more than acquaintances. 

The stranger raised both hands in surrender and settled for giving Hawkeye one last wink.

“What are you doing, Hawkeye?” he whispered urgently as she staggered closer to him. He feels the familiar weight of a pistol gently graze his thigh as she shifts slightly to steady herself, and sighs in both relief and amusement—of course, even in her drunken state she would not let anyone take advantage of her, and she would _never_ let herself be disarmed. 

But Mustang couldn’t help but wonder just _how much_ she had drunk by that point. The intoxicating blend of citrus and hard liquor overpowered any lingering trace of her signature scent—an alluring mix of gunpowder and roses. This was very overwhelmingly apparent in her hot breath on his neck as she leaned closer to rest an arm on his shoulder and placed a finger delicately on his chin.

“What are _you_ doing here, sir?” she said teasingly. “Shouldn’t you be out on a date?” 

“I’m here because a little bird told me you got yourself completely hammered, Lieutenant,” he replied, getting flustered. Scarlet began to mottle their cheeks—his from embarrassment, unaccustomed to her...uncharacteristic behavior, and hers from intoxication. 

“Well, lucky for us, I’m not,” she says as her hands roam lower to fiddle with his tie before pulling him forward somewhat aggressively. “Dance with me for a bit, won’t you?”

Sensing his hesitation, Hawkeye craned her neck to whisper in his ear seductively. _“Roy Mustang…”_

And with every dragged syllable, every feathery-light touch of her lips, every lingering breath, he could feel desire begin to engulf him like a hot, inextinguishable inferno… 

She was making this very, _very_ difficult for him. 

Rebecca noticed his struggle, but did nothing to help him. Mustang only saw mirth dancing in her eyes as she waltzed past him and told him to take care of her, before returning to her seat to accompany Havoc, who immediately regained consciousness after she splashed water on his face. 

He winced mentally and flashed Hawkeye an awkward smile while attempting to disentangle her nimble fingers that were busy loosening his satin tie. “Come on, you’re not thinking straight, Lieutenant.”

She _giggles._ Hawkeye _freaking giggles._ “Just one dance, _sir.”_ Her breath was husky as she ran her slender fingers up his chest.

Mustang hesitantly obliges (because it was impossible to refuse anything she desired, especially when she was asking so...politely.) He just managed to grip her waist with a leading arm to steady her before she could fall over in her impossibly tall, spindly heels. 

He had to admit, those heels made her legs look positively divine, but he forcibly froze his train of thought just as he began to wonder how it would feel to have her legs wrapped around his waist while he had her up against a wall-- 

“Alright, Lieutenant, enough of this,” he fussed. “We really should get you some water.” He signalled to the nearest bartender (who looked equally amused at his distress) for a glass of water. 

“I’m not thirsty,” Hawkeye declared, still a giddy, disorientated mess. “But I am…a little hungry…” 

“I could get you a sandwich or something,” he offered hastily, already prepared to change his order. But before he could do that, she leaned in to press a deep kiss on his neck before sending him the sultriest look she could muster, triumph glinting in her ochre eyes as she fluttered her eyelashes prettily. 

_She did not._ He gulped. Hawkeye was already attractive enough to begin with, but when she was sending him _looks_ like that in such close proximity, coupled with the things she was doing—things that he’d only dared to fantasise in the privacy of his bedroom… 

It made it very _hard_ to hide the predicament in his pants. 

“Hawkeye,” he groaned, feeling as though even the slightest brush of her fingers against his skin was setting him on fire like his infamous flame alchemy. It was incredible how she could awaken such an unbridled passion within him, and while he honestly would have loved to press his lips onto her tempting, luscious ones there and then, he had been raised to be a gentleman. 

Roy Mustang was _not_ going to take advantage of her, not while she was in this state, and well—not ever.

She deserved _much_ better than some drunken affair—at the very _least_ , she deserved to be taken out on a proper date first. He had not missed her irritation when he left for his date earlier, and while it was just supposed to be nothing more than gathering intel, he highly doubted she would be pleased to learn how much his date had cozied up to him.

“Let’s get you home, you need to sleep,” he insisted gently while attempting to place a respectable distance between them. 

“Home, eh? Aren’t you quite the impatient one?” she winked at him cheekily, glitter dancing off her eyelids like stars. 

“No!” he cried, scandalised. Seeing the way her crimson lips broke out into a wicked grin, he decided it was futile to attempt to reason with her that he was only going to get her home to put her in bed, _nothing more._ “That’s it, Lieutenant, you’ve had your fun,” he said haltingly and attempted to lead her closer to the dining area.

“Insufferable colonel,” Hawkeye said lazily, “Can’t hold a steady girl to date, can’t hold a steady girl to dance.” She proceeded to lean in again, deliberately taking her time to press her body against his, chest to chest, waist to waist...

The colonel’s mind reeled for _any_ way he could get her to comply with being dragged off the floor. “Anything I can do to prove otherwise?” 

An angelic smile graced Hawkeye’s lips - a stark contrast to the devilish glint in her eyes. She held his arm until it circled around her waist. “You could man up and return that kiss I gave you.” 

“Done,” Mustang said, feeling beads of sweat form under his collar. _At least she loosened the stupid tie._ “Let’s take this somewhere private, shall we?”

She let out another bout of enchanting laughter and seemingly failed to even recognize that he had deftly picked her up before she could make a further mess of herself. He made his way towards the team’s table and gestured his head towards Hawkeye’s purse and military issue black coat. “Can I get those, please?”

Rebecca’s smile is fixed in a naughty line as she lets a bemused Fuery hurriedly drape her coat and purse over the colonel’s shoulder. 

“Have a good one, Colonel,” she teased.

He doesn’t miss Rebecca and Breda’s whistles as he disappears from the bar with a very drunk lieutenant in his arms. 

~x~

The ride to Hawkeye’s serviced apartment building had been relatively peaceful. She had fallen asleep after he tucked her into the carseat, and Roy was terribly grateful for the silence that ensued since it gave him some time to cool off and drive without any needless distractions that would have undoubtedly aggravated his already abysmal driving skills. 

Mustang killed the engine as soon as he parked the car as close as possible to the main entrance and gently tried to shake Hawkeye awake. 

“Lieutenant?”

An incoherent mumble.

“ _Riza_ ,” he tried again. “We’re here.”

Seconds dragged on, until Roy decided that he would have to assist his personal adjutant up the stairs at this rate. He stepped out of the car and recollected her things over one shoulder before taking her into his arms again. 

They received looks of amusement from any onlookers at the apartment lobby and the receptionist was quick to offer assistance.

“We’ll be alright,” Roy said sheepishly, cheeks flushing yet again at what a sight he and the lieutenant probably were. _She’ll castigate herself for months if she ever remembers any of this…_

When they arrived at her door, Roy set her down gently and allowed her to slump against him as he fumbled through her purse for her key. Already, he could hear Hayate on the other side sniffing at the bottom of the door frame.

As soon as he unlocked the door, he was greeted by the familiar Shiba Inu who immediately waged his tail and sniffed at his master’s toes. “Your mother’s had quite a night,” Roy chuckled and made his way to the living room sofa, before helping Riza into a sitting position so that he could remove her red heels— _god, how do people even walk in this monstrosity?_

“Wait here, Riza. I’ll get you some water,” he said gently and found his way around the kitchen to pour her a glass of water. When he returned, he sat next to her and adjusted her position slightly so that she could rest her weight on his body. 

Riza raised a finger to poke him in the chest as he drew the glass to her lips. “Ever the gentleman, huh…” She took a sip and sighed despondently. “Bet you do this for all your other dates too, hm? Bring them back after dinner and...” Her fingers began to trail lower, as if reaching out for something. 

Roy’s eyes widened, slightly startled at her confession. It was about the closest thing she’d ever made to an indication that she was... _jealous._

Lost in thought, he failed to realise that her fingers had started unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Wait, no, no—” he grabbed both of her hands firmly before she could proceed any lower, still in shock from her forwardness. Under normal circumstances, he would have been the one behaving in this manner, but seeing his lieutenant like this—so affectionate, and yet so vulnerable: the alcohol was offering a glimpse, a little window into the deepest part of her heart —he began to feel guilt gnawing at him, an uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. _Just_ how much _did you drink, Lieutenant?_

No one, Riza included, was aware that Roy’s womanizing antics were but a facade. Underneath that semblance of being a serial flirt was a carefully crafted covert operation solely dedicated to gathering important intel. The only reason he chose not to disclose this system to anyone was to protect all the women he ‘dated’—women who were actually his foster sisters under his aunt’s employ.

Deep down, though, his heart belonged to Riza, and Riza alone. Seeing her reduced to this drunken mess almost made him wish that the anti-fraternisation laws could be repealed once and for all just so that he could show her how much she really meant to him. 

_But that won’t do either, would it,_ he thought. _You’d only tell me it would wreck our focus on the real goal_.

“How bittersweet, Lieutenant,” he finally murmured.

“Indeed,” she managed, eyes brightening slightly. “How bittersweet it is that you’re rejecting all my advances, _sir,_ ” emphasising the last word with slight disgust. 

Briefly, he wondered if she thought of herself as undesirable. With her unparalleled professionalism and cool indifference, it was often easy to forget that she, too, was just an ordinary woman with her own emotions, desires and proclivities. 

“Not like this, Riza,” he said softly. “I’m not going to take advantage of you—I’ll _never_ take advantage of you. You’re not even sober enough to scold _me_ for being unprofessional,” he almost laughed at the irony of the situation. _Oh, how the tables have turned._

He realized quickly that his statement only exacerbated her displeasure. 

“Get out, _Roy,”_ Riza said darkly and made a poor attempt to push against him so she could stand.

Expecting the result, Roy calmly caught her again in his arms as she stumbled halfway through rising. He heard her mutter expletives under her breath.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he sighed. “Then I’ll go.”

For a third time that night, he picked her up and took her to her bedroom, Hayate dutifully at his heels.

Just as he tucked her in, Riza managed to open an eye and tug at his sleeve. “Why don’t you join me...sir,” she yawned.

 _You have no idea how much I’d love to, Riza._ “I brought you back so that you could go to sleep, nothing more. But…” he bent lower to brush her fringe out of her flushed face, and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead. “I told you I’d return that kiss from earlier, didn’t I?” 

She smiled beatifically at him as he pulled her blanket over her gently. “How about dinner, soon?” she slurred drunkenly. 

“I’ll work that out, Lieutenant,” he smiled, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. “Good night.” 

Soon enough, she was out like a light, and as he stared at Riza’s lovely face, golden slumber kissing her eyes, the desire that had settled in his gut made a fiery resurgence. Roy debated his next actions for a little longer, before finally leaning in to brush his lips gently against hers. 

It was so much better than he had imagined—she tasted like sweet cherries and fulfilled desire beneath him, and it took all of his willpower to extricate himself from her and leave her room. 

By the time he returned to the car his heart was still pounding loudly in his ears; the electrifying sensation of his lips against hers and her lips on his neck imprinted into his memory like an unforgettable, delightful dream. 

~x~

The next morning at precisely 0900, Mustang was at his desk and surveying his team. As customary in the military, everyone was on time and complete. Everyone, except--

“Where’s First Lieutenant Hawkeye?” he snapped.

Havoc looked up from the joint exercises applications he was filling out for the team. “She reported in a little earlier today, sir,” he offered carefully. “Said she’d be a runner today.”

Mustang was not oblivious to the way the rest of them kept their heads purposefully down and buried in their work. The realisation that _all_ of them had been present to witness Hawkeye’s antics the previous night, from the pompous eight-shot-dare Havoc thought up until he hoisted her in his arms and hurried off, caused red to rise up his cheeks, which he furtively concealed with an embarrassed palm to the face. 

“Fine,” he mumbled. “As long as none of you make me file any unforeseen leaves.”

“Yessir,” came the hushed, unanimous response.

On the other side of their workspace, Hawkeye was making her way down the hall with a heavy stack of books and scrolls, and a deep scowl fixed on her face. 

She had woken up with an awful migraine in the morning and was appalled to discover that she had gotten so drunk to the point of committing two cardinal sins: first, failing to remove her makeup before going to bed, and second, sleeping without showering. She felt like utter crap (and looked like it, too, she realised upon examining her reflection in the mirror), and so made herself a cup of tea to quell the nausea in her stomach before proceeding to clean up. 

Like a punch to the gut, memories of last night filtered its way into her consciousness after she had freshened up with a shower—memories that filled in a literal gap between a sixth shot, and falling asleep just as Hayate was licking her face. This made her groan and want to throw up all over again, because even the mere thought of facing the colonel or looking at her colleagues after the disgraceful events of last night made her want to flare up in embarrassment. 

But in the end, Hawkeye decided that escape was futile, and so forced herself to drag her reluctant feet to work.

Finally, she arrived at Archives and tapped her boot against the foot of the door. “Assistance, please?” she calls out, surprised at the command in her own voice.

A young girl held the door open and immediately bowed. “Good morning, Lieutenant,” she said, accustomed to recognizing rank in uniforms. 

“Thank you,” Hawkeye said with a small smile and let herself in. “I’m returning these from Colonel Mustang’s office. Could you confirm there are no overdue fees?”

“Yes, of course!” The other girl trotted up and gingerly took the books and scrolls in her arms. “Will you be renewing permissions for any of them?”

“No, we’re all done,” Hawkeye answered.

As soon as Archives cleared the documents—and thankfully confirmed no late fees—Hawkeye heaved a sigh and turned to leave. As she stepped out and scanned the hallway she pouted and made her way nervously around every corner to accomplish the favors she committed to the team today.

It was bad enough having to face everyone after knowing full well what they had witnessed of her just hours before. And _Havoc_ —that bumbling buffoon—had to be the Officer-in-Charge that signed off on her tasks so that she could be granted entry into restricted areas to accomplish tasks normally allocated to her other peers.

_Anything to avoid the colonel._

The rest of the day passed without further inconvenience, much to Hawkeye’s relief. She spent the hours at Communications, the firing range, Task Force, and the Court Martial Office, ensuring she had accomplished her agenda (on top of being ridiculously petty over her predicament) and ready to turn in by 1740.

She had even managed to avoid the men at lunch, but it had not flown over her head when she lined up at the mess hall for food just behind Fuery.

_“How are you today, lieutenant?” the young soldier asked._

_“Better than I expected, sergeant,” she said blankly. “Although you could charge that to the caffeine.”_

_Fuery offered a sheepish smile, before a thoughtful look suddenly crossed his face. “We only meant to have a little fun. It’s a good thing that Saturdays at the office are relatively lighter than the rest of the week,” he said. “For what it’s worth, Lieutenant, the colonel mentioned he’d be leaving early again today. You could catch up on your work after that.”_

_Hawkeye could not help but smile a little bit more. Fuery’s kind and matter-of-fact nature was infectious, and she appreciated his attention to detail for her sake. “Thank you, Sergeant.”_

_The rest of their conversation at the line was spent on inquiring what plans they each had for the weekend, which, unsurprisingly, was not much anyway._

Hawkeye found herself standing outside the door to the team office by exactly 1739. She looked up and down the hallway again before pressing her ear against the oak wood.

 _No one’s in,_ she thought rather gleefully.

She let herself in and was pleasantly surprised to see that everyone on the team had left. Their desks were clear and drawers locked. Even the colonel seemed to have accomplished all of his paperwork yet again.

Hawkeye gulped, as if to swallow the bout of envy that had formed in her throat. “Dates are a good motivator at least,” she muttered to herself and finally walked to her own desk. She unlocked her private drawer and pulled out the paperwork she had been meaning to get through in peace.

She had not noticed the time, but she did have to rise at least once to illuminate the room as night had yet again fallen upon Central. Her nose was deep into reviewing documents for inventory requests that she barely noticed the door open and soft footsteps stop abruptly.

“There you are.”

Riza swore she felt her heart jump up to her throat as she looked to see who her new companion in the room was.

“Colonel! What are you doing here?” she demanded.

Roy gave her a curious look. 

She then noticed that he was not in uniform. Instead, the man looked dressed for another night out of flirting and drinking. “What time is it, I thought you had a date?” 

Roy’s gaze on her softened and he pulled his arm out from behind him to reveal a beautiful bouquet of tulips and carnations. “I thought _we_ had a date?”

Her heart was still lodged in her throat for sure. Riza must have had quite the facial expression because Roy then hastily closed the door and started laughing.

She flushed red, and the scowl she started her day with returned. “What are you talking about, sir? This isn’t funny.”

Roy took a deep breath before putting on his most charming smile. “You asked so politely for dinner tonight,” he said. “Among...other things.”

She felt her cheeks grow hotter as he looked away and down at the bouquet in his hands. “So...shall we get going? Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir, that would be…very nice,” she managed impassively in a poor attempt to suppress the blood that was traitorously begging to rise to her cheeks. Riza recalled that somehow, in her drunken idiocy she managed to ask her _superior officer_ out to dinner, but because she failed to remember what he had answered she hoped to the highest heavens it had really just been part of a dream.

Roy smiled at her, as if in understanding, and placed the bouquet across her on the table before removing her coat from the team cupboard. “I suppose you hadn’t really meant to ask under those circumstances, Lieutenant,” he said, coming to her side and motioning to assist her into the garment. “But I hoped you meant it nonetheless. I’m more than happy to oblige.”

She held her breath as she allowed him to affix the coat around her shoulders. She noticed how he let his fingers linger a little longer than necessary over her collarbone, like an unintentional ode to where her lips had been last night.

Riza shuddered involuntarily. “Thank you, sir,” she mumbled, in a poorly disguised pretence as she could just barely keep a smile from betraying her stoic and striking features.

_“Sir…”_

He raised his brow and observed how his lieutenant seemed to be in an inward mental debate. “Did you want me to bring you to your apartment first for a change of clothes?”

She nearly sputtered as she flushed red from her neck to her cheeks.

Roy bit his lip and smiled at how endearing she looked. “The night is young,” he said. “Let’s go, Lieutenant.”

The rest of their evening went by without dire consequence. He had picked a restaurant in one of the more relaxed districts of Central where they were least likely to run into any acquaintances, but still able to enjoy a fanciful meal in the soft glow of yellow lights and ambient jazz music.

Needless to say, Riza politely refused the wine.

**Author's Note:**

> our first collab together!! we had a lot of fun working on this together over the week, and we hope you enjoyed it as much we did. we'd really appreciate any kind of feedback you might have <3
> 
> // 
> 
> say hi on tumblr if you're there and to see hiraya's artwork in it's full glory (@hirayaart and @firewoodfigs) ^_^


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